Chapter 2
From an unknown number, but I recognized the manicure from the photo.
"BTW, that robe is Victoria's Secret. Pink is my color, don't you think? đ"
Attached was another photo. This time our bedroom. Our bed.
I rushed to the small bathroom at the back of the clinic, barely making it before I threw up.
"Deli? You okay?" Marcy knocked on the door. "You look really pale."
I rinsed my mouth, looking at myself in the mirror. She was right. I looked terrible.
"I'm fine. Just something I ate."
I walked out, trying to act normal, but Marcy wasn't buying it.
"Was it that Henderson girl? She looked really smug when she left. And she definitely didn't need dental work, dressed like that."
Of course Marcy noticed. In a small town, nothing goes unnoticed. If Marcy picked up on something being off, soon everyone will know.
"She seemed... unusual." I pretended to be busy at the filing cabinet.
My phone rang. I hoped it was Brock, but the caller ID showed "Sunset Elementary School."
Shit. I'd forgotten Tyler had early dismissal today.
"I'll be right there."
I grabbed my purse and keys. "Marcy, can you close up? I need to get Tyler."
I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number.
"Tell Tyler his new stepmom says hi! We're going to be such a happy family! đ"
Stepmom? She thinks she's going to become Tyler's stepmom? Over my dead body.
But then reality hit. If Brock really wanted a divorce, if he really was going to marry this girl... Tyler would have a stepmom. This bitch would help raise my son.
I started the car, hands still shaking. I needed to get Tyler. Then I needed to go home and face whatever truth was waiting for me there.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw a red Camaro parked across the street. Paisley was in the driver's seat, talking on her phone, laughing.
She waved at me.
Actually fucking waved.
This isn't over, little girl. You want to play games? Fine. But you picked the wrong woman to mess with. I might just be a dental assistant, but this is my life, my family, my town.
And I'm not going down without a fight.
Driving to Tyler's school, my brain was racing. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe Paisley was lying or exaggerating. But those photos... that bracelet...
My phone rang through the Bluetooth. Brock. Finally.
"Hey babe, got your message. What's up?"
His voice sounded so normal, so casual, like nothing had happened.
Babe? He's still calling me babe? Another woman was just sitting in our kitchen wearing my robe, but sure, I'm still "babe."
"We need to talk."
"Okay... about what? Everything alright?"
Everything alright? Your former student just told me at my workplace that she's going to steal you, showing off jewelry you apparently bought her, plus photos from inside our house, but sure, everything's fine.
"Just... call me when you can talk privately."
"I can talk now. I'm in my office."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, what's going on? You're scaring me."
Part of me wanted to ask him directly. But another partâthe part that had been married eight yearsâwanted to give him a chance to come clean.
"Did you have a team dinner last night?"
Long pause. "Yeah, why?"
"Who was there?"
Another pause, longer. "Uh... the usual people. Assistant coaches, some boosters. Why are you asking?"
He's lying. I can hear it in his voice. That hesitation, that defensive tone. Eight years of marriage, and I know when he's lying. And why would these simple questions make him defensive?
"What time did it end?"
"Deli, what is this? An interrogation?"
"Just answer the question."
"Around... ten? Ten-thirty?"
He came home at midnight. Said he stopped for gas and told that story about hugging parents.
"Brockâ"
"Shit, I gotta go. Coach Martinez needs to see me. We'll talk at home, okay?"
He hung up before I could respond.
He hung up on me. Brock never hangs up on me. We might argue, but we don't hang up on each other. What's so urgent that he can't finish this conversation?
Tyler ran toward the car, backpack bouncing. Eight years old, all energy and innocence. He had no idea his world was about to explode.
"Mom! Where were you? I waited forever!"
"I'm sorry, baby. Work ran late."
He climbed in, chattering about his day, his teacher, his friends. Normal eight-year-old stuff.
How do you tell an eight-year-old that Daddy might be leaving? That there might be a divorce? That some stranger might become his stepmom? You don't. Not yet. Not until you're sure.
"Can we get McDonald's?" Tyler asked.
"Not today. We need to go home."
"Awww, come on! Just a Happy Meal?"
"Tyler, I said no."
My voice came out sharper than intended. He looked hurt.
We lived in half of a duplex on Maple Street. Not fancy, but clean and affordable. I'd always been proud that we maintained it well, made it cozy. Now I was looking at everything differently.
"Tyler, go start your homework. I'll be in in a minute."
I walked through the house, looking for... what? Evidence? Signs?
In the kitchen, I studied every surface. That photo showed Paisley sitting on the counter by the window. I imagined her here, in my space, wearing my robe.
She was in my kitchen. Drinking from my mugs, probably. Eating food I bought, paid for with money I helped earn. Acting like she belonged here. Like she had a right to be here.
My phone buzzed. Text from the same unknown number.
"Missing something? Check the bedroom. đ"
My heart pounded as I walked down the hallway. Tyler's door was closedâhe was good about homework time. I pushed open our bedroom door.
Everything looked normal. Bed made, clothes put away. But...
I opened my jewelry box. Empty. Not completely, but my small collection of nice piecesâmy wedding earrings, the necklace Brock gave me for our anniversary, my grandmother's ringâgone.
She took my jewelry. She was in my house, stealing my things. This isn't an affair. This is... invasion. This is violation of everything I thought was safe and mine.